D e a r V – I

Hysterical as I read how you loathed Freud. He claims psychoanalysis brought about your creativity and that you needed to see a therapist. I bet you were thankful for Leonard; he put Freud in his place. “If Virginia had gone to see somebody about her mental breakdowns, the creativity, the madness, it would have stopped.”Good for him. It was more Preferable to be mad and creative than to be analyzed. Who wants to remember that horrible dress your mom made you wear to St. Ives anyway? You said you “ceased to be obsessed by your mother. You no longer hear her voice; you do not see her. … you suppose that you did for yourself what psycho-analysts do for their patients. You expressed some very long felt and deeply felt emotion. And in expressing it you explained it and then laid it to rest.” And you didn’t even have to pay, right? Unless by writing. You do lighten up a bit on Freud , whose “ sense of the power of the past and of the primitive emotions that lurk beneath the veneer of culture can be seen in To the Lighthouse.” But he is still that “screwed up shrunk very old man.”

Did you see who just walked by?”
“I could smell a light hint of self absorption in this gaudy unpleasant theater.”
“Who does he think he is showing up at the same conference? What is he going to do? Go up there and tell you that your novels are just a cry out for help?”
“Arsehole.”

 

T h e R o a d t o t h e B e a c h

Has my ocean traveled with your wind?
Waves send mysteries abroad.
Barrels pursue each other as sea divides itself from a dark horizon.
Without its companion, one cannot be by itself.
The sea as ourselves. The wind as our thoughts.
Fragments travel on ship’s cargo, Lost: another sea to breathe with and conform to.